Let's go ten years back—
To the moment when Parajay was born once again and given a new name.
Babasaheb Anant Vatsya.
A newborn lay quietly in a finely crafted bassinet, wrapped in soft, expensive cloth befitting the child of a duke. The fabric was light, embroidered with subtle golden threads, and carried a faint fragrance of herbs used to calm infants.
Yet—
Unlike any other child born that night…
He did not cry.
His chest rose and fell steadily. His small fingers twitched once, then stilled. His eyes remained closed, his expression eerily calm.
Too calm.
'Hmm… I have been born again, huh.'
Within that tiny, fragile body, a fully conscious mind stirred.
'With this reincarnation… I have now successfully completed an unbeatable record.'
A pause.
'My 100th life.'
Silence filled his thoughts—not of peace, but of familiarity.
There was no excitement.
No fear.
Only a dull acceptance.
He had done this before.
Again… and again… and again.
Outside his quiet mind, however, the room was anything but calm.
Servants whispered nervously. A few maids exchanged uneasy glances. Even the atmosphere felt heavier than it should have been for the birth of a noble child.
One maid finally muttered under her breath,
"Why… isn't he crying?"
Duke Babasahab Felix Vatsya stood beside the bassinet, his sharp gaze fixed on the newborn.
His voice carried both authority and a hint of concern.
"Is he fine?"
A brief pause.
"He is not even crying."
Standing nearby was a woman clad in elegant medical robes, her posture straight, her expression composed.
She stepped forward slightly.
"Indeed, Your Grace."
Her voice was calm, professional.
"We have already tested everything using our diagnostic magic tools."
A faint glow from a floating circular sigil near the child slowly faded, indicating the end of another scan.
"It is rare… but not impossible."
She adjusted her sleeve slightly before continuing.
"Perhaps one in a trillion births, a newborn may not cry."
She was none other than Sakura Horikita, the head doctor of the Vatsya Duchy.
A name well known across regions.
A prodigy of the medical field.
A member of one of the most prominent healing clans.
Her eyes lingered on the child just a second longer than necessary.
Because even she—
Felt something… unusual.
Meanwhile, inside the newborn's mind—
'They're worried about something so trivial…'
Anant almost sighed.
Or at least, he would have, if his current body allowed such expressions properly.
'Crying… laughing… panicking… I've done all of that in previous lives.'
'It changes nothing.'
Memories flickered.
A hero crowned with glory—betrayed.
A prince loved by many—poisoned.
A demon feared by all—hunted down.
A scholar, a warrior, a king…
Every life—
Ended the same way.
Death.
The discussions in the room continued, voices overlapping softly.
Precautions.
Observations.
Possibilities.
Yet none of them could grasp the truth.
That the child before them—
Had already lived more than all of them combined.
Hours passed.
The estate slowly quieted.
Night deepened.
One by one, the lights dimmed.
And in the stillness of midnight—
Anant opened his eyes.
Not because of hunger.
Not because of discomfort.
But because—
It had arrived.
A faint, invisible presence surfaced within his consciousness.
A familiar one.
[System is now activated]
[Checking its functions…]
[Functions working properly]
[Cooldown will start soon]
There it was.
The same cold, emotionless interface.
The same system that had followed him since his 26th life.
'Well… right on time.'
If he could, he would have smirked.
'Looks like the cooldown is still on holiday…'
A brief pause.
'Probably… still ten years.'
The system remained silent after that.
Just like always.
It did not guide.
It did not protect.
It did not warn him in advance.
It only did one thing.
Predict his death.
And it would only update—
After he died.
'Useless… as always.'
Yet despite calling it useless—
He had never been able to ignore it.
Because it had never been wrong.
Not once.
As time passed, Anant quietly observed everything around him.
Even without moving much, even without speaking—
He listened.
Servants talked.
Maids whispered.
Nobles discussed.
Especially his father.
There were moments when Duke Babasahab would personally come to see him, even holding him with surprising gentleness for a man of such authority.
During one such moment, the Duke had spoken casually—
About rewarding every servant in the duchy.
Jewelry.
Silver coins.
A celebration for his birth.
The room had been filled with warmth.
Gratitude.
Joy.
But Anant—
Felt none of it.
'This happiness…'
'It's temporary.'
From countless reincarnations, he had already learned one undeniable truth:
A child's worth—
Especially in noble families—
Was never unconditional.
It depended on one thing.
Awakening.
And that topic soon reached his ears as well.
A few hours after his birth, some members of the household had begun discussing it.
"The awakening ceremony will take place when he turns ten."
"I wonder what kind of class he will receive…"
"With the Duke's bloodline, expectations will be high."
Anant listened silently. 'Awakening… huh.'
A system of fate that determined one's path.
Class.
Abilities.
Potential.
He had experienced it many times.
'My luck wasn't particularly good… or bad.'
He began calculating, out of habit.
Out of his past lives—
Around 50% had given him decent or favorable classes.
If average ones were included as "acceptable," then that number held.
Otherwise—
If judged strictly—
Nearly 75% of his awakenings had been… disappointing.
'Hero… Demon… Knight… Mage…'
'None of it mattered in the end.'
Because no matter what he became—
The ending remained unchanged.
'Still… if I calculate the odds…'
Even as a newborn—
He was already thinking.
Analyzing.
Predicting.
'This time… it should at least be average.'
Not hope.
Not optimism.
Just probability.
And as more conversations reached his ears, another piece of information stood out.
This world—
Was structured.
Strict.
Almost suffocating.
After awakening—
Every individual was required to enroll in an academy within a year.
And once enrolled—
They would remain there for ten years straight.
Until they reached the age of twenty-one.
Transfers were possible—
But only under limited, controlled agreements.
'A system within a system…'
A faint, tired thought passed through his mind.
'Same as always… just a different setting.'
He had seen similar structures in other worlds.
Different names.
Different rules.
Same outcome.
Control.
Expectation.
Pressure.
His thoughts kept moving.
Relentless.
Heavy.
Too heavy—
For a newborn's mind.
His small body shifted slightly.
His breathing softened.
Even with a mind that had endured a hundred lifetimes—
This body—
Was still just an infant.
Slowly—
His consciousness began to fade.
'Whatever…'
-
A final thought echoed faintly.
'Let's see how this one ends…'
And with that—
Babasaheb Anant Vatsya—
In his 100th life—
Fell asleep.